


The Vampire and Keith's Lasagna

by ambivalentlangst



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allura has an art gallery!! Babe!!, Comedy, Half Vampire!Lance, Just a light spooky story for the season, Keith fears Lotor's squad as we all should, Keith is pissed, Keith loves his lasagna, Lance glows because I love him, Lance is basically a vegan, Lotor is ultimate frat boy, M/M, a lil bit of caretaker Lance because Keith is trashed, blood?? I only know marinara, btw the fraternity name has no meaning, i just googled names and slapped on the first one that came up, made with very limited knowledge of cooking, very drunk Keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 18:25:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12587920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambivalentlangst/pseuds/ambivalentlangst
Summary: Halloween was supposed to be spent at Allura's art gallery. Keith was not supposed to get sucked into a massive party that left him as a shambling drunk mess, but things do not always so as they are supposed to. Maybe that phenomena is what could be used to explain the vampire in the backseat of his car, eating his leftover lasagna.





	The Vampire and Keith's Lasagna

**Author's Note:**

> After disappearing for a a few weeks, I come back and present to you 2k+ words of cute Klance for Halloween. I’ve been loving all the creating in the Voltron fandom during October, so here’s my contribution to all that. This is also posted on my tumblr, ambivalentlangst. Enjoy, and have a very spooky remainder of your Halloween!

When Keith had decided to go to Allura’s art show, he was not expecting to end the night drunk off his ass or to find a vampire eating leftover lasagna in the back of his car. In his defense, when Lotor asked one to go with him to a party, one did not say no. That was simply not how Altea University or the house of Kappa Kappa Gamma operated, and even if Keith did have the lack of self preservation needed where he would tell Lotor to kindly fling himself into the sun, he wasn’t willing to risk upsetting his friend group. Zethrid by herself was clearly a bodybuilder, and Keith doubted it would even be hard for her to crush his head between her thighs. Ezor at the very least was toned (Pidge had her money on her being an acrobat), Acxa could maim someone with a glare, and according to Allura and reluctantly, Shay, Narti’s wings were sharp enough to kill a man. They sat at the top of the dean’s list along with Lotor, who was Allura’s cousin. He wasn’t a bad guy, necessarily. Keith had a certain degree of respect for anyone who could handle a six pack of beer in an hour without passing out or being hospitalized. He was just, ah, how to put it, intense.

Lotor ruled campus, which turned out to be a lot more difficult in college than all the movies made it out to be. He somehow managed to be in every necessary club or organization, showing up for just enough meetings to be in without being frowned upon, to where it took unprecedented lack of social prowess to not at least have heard Lotor’s name. He had excellent grades too, which was just unfair even to a prodigy who never studied like Keith. At least he couldn’t be seen partying every night of the weekend, then show up bright eyed and bushy tailed on Monday. So, going back to his night on the town and his first meeting with the pasta fiend. It had all started with Allura’s art show.

Allura was a goddess in human form, and if anyone wanted to argue that point Keith could just direct them to the fact that she dyed her hair white and her roots were constantly flawless. That, and she could breakdance in six inch heels. Like he was saying, a goddess. Even someone whose fashion sense lay solely in flannels and whatever could hide a solid eight blades on his person at any given time like Keith could recognize that. She also happened to be a gifted artist, who Keith would defend with his dying breath because hello, it was Allura. Her color palettes gave him Jesus, which was pretty tough considering Keith was an atheist and resident cynic. Again, Allura.

Her latest collection had opening night on Halloween, which fit the darker theme she’d been going for in her latest works beautifully. After a delightful dinner, courtesy of Hunk, they’d gone to the gallery. Lotor and the girls were there too, and Allura was obviously delighted to have them. It was all good, and Keith relished the thought that he’d remembered the insulated lunchbox (with an icepack, naturally) he had waiting in the car, stuffed with a very, very large container of lasagna. When weekly dinners with everyone became a norm, they’d all started to invest in some ways to take home leftovers. After the gallery and meal Keith felt fairly socially exhausted, but Lotor had decided to strike.

He and his squad of terrifying women trapped him, and with that silver tongue of his suddenly Keith found himself at the biggest party of first semester. Kappa Kappa Gamma’s costume party, which Lotor had deigned to miss the beginning of in favor of his cousin. He was a frat boy, but he at least had some loyalty to family. The only thing topping it throughout the school year was New Year’s, but Keith admittedly never really remembered much of that by the time he woke up the next morning. A literal cocktail of bad decisions followed upon his arrival to the party, including but not limited to a bit of a chugging contest with Matt. He’d showed up along the way with the rest of their friend group because when making bad life choices, might as well get everyone involved in the fun. By the time Keith stumbled out of the hot bed of intoxicating substance and horrible music that made him almost let loose his stomach full of way too many different types of alcohol on Nyma’s shoes, he was thoroughly wasted. For anyone’s information, when he found the vampire, he had not been intending to drive home. He knew better, thank you very much. No, his plan had been to pass out in the backseat of his piece of shit car rather than all too sticky floor of that madhouse because really he would rather not relive that experience. Somewhere after his second line of shots he had scrawled that advice on his hand in what could only be understood by someone equally drunk.

Instead, he found some asshole eating his lasagna.

“Man, what the fuck?”

A head of brown hair slowly swiveled his direction, with pupils blown disturbingly wide in the pools of glowing, electric blue that made up his eyes. Keith stared at him accusingly, and at the marinara dripping down his chin that in the dim lighting could only be discerned from blood due to the flecks of oregano hidden in its midst. White fangs flashed in what little illumination was offered by the street lamps, as the thief held out his hands in what appeared to be an attempt at placating Keith.

“Listen, I’m really sorry, but we all have to eat, right? And, uh, if you didn’t mention this that’d be great so um if I could just slip past-” Keith crawled forward, shoving a finger into the boy’s chest.

“You. Are. Eating. My. Lasagna.” This was inexcusable. Keith was angry. Very angry. How dare he? He was very excited about that lasagna for a hungover dinner or lunch tomorrow, it would depend on when his steady stream of vomit would subside. The stranger stared at him, those same startling eyes going from the sad last few bites that remained, and then back to Keith. Damn him, Keith thought. He’d been here awhile, then. A long time, and he’d spent that time eating his lasagna. 

“I mean, do you want the last couple bites?” Keith snatched the tupperware from him, and the fork he also kept in his very nice lunchbox. He aggressively shoved some of the delicious, cheesy and saucy beauty in food form into his mouth. The stranger sighed, looking sad.

“You’re not even going to have that in your system for a deserving amount of time. And to think I gave the last of the lasagna to someone so obviously trashed. You reek, by the way.” Keith stuck out his tongue, uncaring of the sauce dribbling down his chin as he did so. Screw the vampire. Screw him and his fiendish, pasta devouring ways. 

“I am not trashed,” he defended himself. His face lit up as he continued. “You know what? You’re trashed. You’re trashed because you’re trash for stealing my lasagna.” The vampire stared, before laughing.

“Okay pal.” Keith sat, hugging his now empty bowl to his chest, unaware of the stain slowly seeping into his shirt. The vampire sat, smiling while he observed Keith. Keith was equally tranquil for a few moments, before he reached forward and shoved his hand in Lance’s mouth, prying it open while he let the tupperware fall to the floor of the car.

The vampire gagged, while Keith pushed his head back to better examine it in the street light.

“So how’d you get these to look so good?” he muttered, poking with quite literally sticky fingers at the fangs he’d seen earlier. The vampire spat, grabbing his wrist to take his hand from his mouth.

“Don’t do that!” he whined. “You taste like cheap booze and frat house floor,” he complained. Keith did his best to shove his grubby fingers back in the boy’s mouth. The stranger was indignant, though in Keith’s inebriated state he could not for the life of him fathom why.

“Hold still,” he grumbled. The stranger yelped as Keith finally managed to worm his way back into his mouth to yank on one of the unnaturally sharp canines it contained. Keith frowned when it remained, and fumbled for the tooth again. The stranger this time grabbed both hands, and held them much tighter with a grip to stop Keith, which was impressive considering Keith had kickboxed for the past five years straight.

“They didn’t move,” Keith told him. The stranger stared, his blue eyes still glowing.

“No shit.”

Keith did not respond to that. He stared at the vampire a little while longer.

“So why didn’t they move?” The boy firstly whacked him, and secondly crossed his arms.  
“Because they’re real, obviously.” Keith was drunk, and drunk Keith did not care to argue with that, as the stranger wiped drool from his mouth with a grimace. He was also not in the state of mind to be harbor properly dubious thoughts about the boy’s claims.

“Oh, that’s cool. I thought you were gonna’ say you used superglue or something. So why, exactly, are you eating my lasagna at two in the morning?” Keith had not forgotten just who the culprit was in this case scenario, and his eyes narrowed. He was going to stick his gross hands back in his mouth if he ever even thought about touching his leftovers again. The stranger huffed annoyedly.

“Because, drunk mullet boy, I am not a heathen. Besides, because I’m only a halfie human food fills me up too, even though blood tastes better. Marinara works because it’s still red, but nothing dies except my diet. Tricks my head, and my stomach. It’s a win-win.” The boy smirked, apparently smug. However, he faltered after a moment, and looked to the side. “Plus this is–er, was–really good lasagna.” Keith raised a hand to smack the stranger, who yelped and threw himself to the floor to dodge.

“I’m aware,” he seethed, glaring viciously. Lance laughed nervously, and put his hands up defensively.

“Look, sorry about your pasta. Really, my bad. How about I drive you home to make up for it?” Keith thought about it for a moment. The vampire was offering a deal that sounded very good because when didn’t his bed sound good, but he was also the asshole who ate his very delicious lasagna and Keith just wasn’t sure he could trust someone that would do something like that. In the end, a vague sense of logic that told him when he woke up tomorrow he’d really rather be somewhere with a trashcan won out, and so he handed the vampire his keys.

“Make it quick,” he grumbled, words slurring together. The vampire grinned.

“Excellent. I, your humble escort, will have you home in no time at all.” 

The two of them clambered into their respective seats in the front of the car, and the vampire revved up the engine. Keith, from his position with crossed arms and his head largely buried underneath his sweatshirt, slurred directions out. The vampire hummed as he drove, and as the car puttered politely at a red light the vampire looked to Keith, still with those eyes that glowed in the dark.

“So, mullet boy, what’s your name?” Keith, who was not sober enough to realize giving personal information out to a stranger was a bad idea, responded with about as much enthusiasm as he was giving directions with.

“Keith. Don’t call me mullet boy. It’s rude. You’re rude. What’s your name, rude lasagna thief?” The vampire laughed, before curling a lip and snarling a quick stream of profanity at another driver from behind ivory fangs.

“Lance,” he told him when he settled down again. He hummed quietly, blowing past a stop sign after doing a quick once over for cops. “Gotta’ wonder if you’ll remember that in the morning. Probably not. I know the stench of tequila, and you smell like three nights of bad decisions rolled into one with a dash of bad fashion sense for good luck.” Keith scoffed.

“I made perfectly good,” a hiccup interrupted him for a moment, “decisions.” Lance didn’t respond to that, and flashed a twenty four karat smile as he pulled into Keith’s parking spot.

“And we’re here! Come on, Keith. Let’s get you home.” Despite Keith’s complaints as he made him ride piggy back, he got him up the stairs to his apartment and into his bed with a glass of water and a lined trash can nearby. Keith stared blearily at him from his pillow, his vision already blurring with exhaustion.

“You are a rude perpetrator of pasta debauchery. Chef Boyardee is disappointed in you.” Lance laughed, flashing those sharply filed pearly whites again.

“Whatever you say, mullet. See you later, Keith. Thanks for dinner!” Keith did not even have time to fire back something to express his indignance at his statement before Lance had disappeared, and he was out like a light.

The next day was spent nursing an excruciating hangover, and lurking around his apartment in a huddle of blankets and pure hatred. He didn’t remember much from the night before, like the name of the stranger who had brought him back home or where his lasagna went. He was thinking about crafting an official conspiracy theory on it, but he needed Pidge for that and she wasn’t much better off than he was at the moment. Shiro scolded him a little, but nobody in their friend group had made it out of that party alive and well. He lost motivation pretty quickly, and went to go take some Advil. Keith didn’t even have a number in his phone to commemorate the flashes of electric blue eyes that lined his memory. Sad, but the loss of the cute boy that showed up Halloween night was forgotten under the mountain of work that slowly crept up on him again. It was not until several weeks later that he came to mind again, on dinner night at Keith and Shiro’s place. Hunk had just pulled his infamous lasagna from the oven to the mutual delight of their friends, when Keith heard a knock at the door. He sighed, but went to get it since everyone else was already seated. Upon opening the door, however, he was greeted with quite the surprise.

“Mullet boy!” A boy at the door exclaimed, throwing his arms out wide. Keith stared, a montage of memories forgotten from that night playing behind his eyes. Coupled with the smell of dinner wafting comfortingly from the kitchen, Keith’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“You!” he shouted, tackling Lance to the ground in the hallway. There was a scraping of chairs on the floor, as his friends rose to see the source of the commotion. They found Keith sitting on top of a lanky, tan boy, who smiled and laughed.

“Good to see you too,” he greeted. He waved at the crowd gathered in the doorway. “Hey! I’m Lance. I heard it was lasagna night.” Keith grabbed Lance by the lapels of his shirt, bringing their faces close together.

“You stole my leftovers.” Lance smiled a little sheepishly, to his credit.

“Yeah, guilty as charged. It was delicious, and you arrived in time to very angrily eat the last few bites, so I am not a complete monster. Besides, afterwards I drove you home and got you in bed, even though you were really against the whole concept of a piggyback ride. So there. Anyways, can I come in?” Keith stared down at him distrustfully, noting the fine details of Lance’s toothy grin. It didn’t come as a complete surprise, but they’d talk about that later. He reluctantly climbed off of him, offering a hand.

“Come on, thief.” Lance laughed, and walked inside while waving to Keith’s friends with his free hand.

“Thanks, mullet.” 

In the end Keith may have been down some lasagna, but who ever said Halloween or vampires ran smoothly?


End file.
